Gilt
by Scavenge-4-Dreams
Summary: Tenth and Final part of 'Insomniac Dreaming'. "All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes Tony's subconscious is not very user friendly". Slash, stony.
1. All That Glitters

**'Gilt'**

* * *

**Story Summary:** All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes Tony's subconscious is a bitch.

* * *

_Part 1: All That Glitters_

_'-daptable properties? Hinky. Considerably more elasticity nee-' _"**No Dummy- Not the- yes. There. Thankyou."** '_-ded. Hulk mass nothing if not considerable.' __**"**_**Just put it on...oh, fine. Yes. Very good.****_" _**_'Relative flexibility is shot too. Test data denotes-' _**"-complete waste of – god, okay! Measure the- not with the... you know what? Fine. Whatever.' '-**_suitable strength, but it's-'_ **"Higher, higher, high! - watch out for the! - Thing. Thing that is now shattered. "**'-_not showing in the quantifiable_" **"You are a disaster! A complete and utter-" '**_Maybe the stretch facto-'_** "Oh for go- how can you even have puppy dog eyes? I did not program puppy dog eyes. Stop it… Fine! It's fine. I didn't like the thing anyway. Good Dummy." '**_Hmmm…coffee?_**' **"**Hmmm…Coffee?"**

* * *

Working around Dummy's hindering assistance, Tony reached blindly to his left, hand searching futilely for one of several coffee mugs he knew were _just_ out of his reach. An embarrassing minute of fruitless scrabbling later, his sleep deprived mind finally remembered that he wasn't a solely touch dependent creature, and half hooded eyes darted up to locate the cheap china holder of liquid ambrosia.

The smooth taste of caffeine burst against his taste-buds, and his tongue chased the fading flavor as he cradled the mug against his chest, the rim chipping against the hard casing of the reactor.

The much talked about and anticipated 'Hulk-Pants' were proving to be resistant to his considerable brain power, an issue in the give of the material rendering each test a failure.

If there was one thing Tony Stark couldn't stand, it was failure.

Brushing against the grain of the weave, Tony looked to his hands, dropping the half full, sort of lukewarm mug back to the bench, uncaring when it sloshed over the sides. He could feel a headache forming behind the tight pinch of his tired eyes, and in some distant part of his mind he wondered how much longer he had before Steve decided it was bedtime for all his little hell raising, trouble-making, engineering geniuses.

And God, if he was thinking _that,_ he had to wonder why Steve wasn't down here already.

"J – Give me some background fuzz, nothing too -thanks", he finished as the low rumble of the little used TV broke over him like a welcome rain, clearing his eyes and forcing him out of his head.

Buckling back under, he tuned out the soothing white noise and irregular illumination, focusing on the inherent links of the scrap of purple material.

At least until his own name caught his attention, minutes or hours later.

The speaker was a woman wearing too much makeup and not enough clothing, presenting some old documentary; a scare tactic from directly after the most recent economic crisis, "…Stark Industries has laid off almost 200 people in the past 18 months. At the head of this corporate monster sits self-proclaimed playboy, Tony Stark. Stark, who flies via private jet, drinks $1000 bottles of wine like water and wears $10 000 once before its left in a crumpled heap on the floor of his closet. The shameless greed of this oily gold-coveting sn-"

The TV suddenly fell silent and Tony snorted a thanks to JARVIS.

So naturally, when he reached for his coffee mug again moments later, and encountered the cold, gleaming sheen of solid gold, even the liquid turned within, his first thought was:

_'Well. That's disconcerting.'_

* * *

He blinked, followed by a slow disbelieving raise of eyebrows and a tiny jolting shake of his head, that had Steve been present, would have seen a badly concealed, yet indulgently adoring smile in response.

That being said, had Steve been present, Tony probably wouldn't have been in a position to be hallucinating.

But Steve was not present, and his cup was still gold.

More importantly, his coffee was still gold, and while he'd admit to that tickling some unnamed fancy, it remained impractical.

_Undrinkable._

And coffee he couldn't drink was like _Steve he couldn't kiss._

Basically: Intolerably cruel and unusual torture.

Also unusual was the fact that he'd only been awake some 35 hours. Generally, the hallucinations didn't start till well after the 50th hour, and even then, were usually just a vague feeling of unbalance, and never anything quite so pretentious.

Not that he didn't appreciate the correlation by his subconscious in the determining of caffeine as solid gold, but Tony could totally deal with this.

Dropping the gold mug back onto the bench elicited a clanging thud though, and Tony's eyes widened at the unusual amount of authenticity his mind was giving to the whole charade.

Deciding that this hallucination was actually starting to freak him out just a little, Tony broke into a wide yawn, eyes squinting shut and mouth parting to allow the lungful of air to sweep the metaphorical cobwebs free from his mind, adding a flex of his upper back and shoulders for good measure, hands coming out to rest flat against the desk, pressing back into the stretch.

He opened his eyes.

The mug was still gold.

And beneath his splayed fingers, so was the whole workbench.

* * *

With a startled gasp he shoved back from the bench, shooting to his feet, automatically reaching to still the wheeled creeper stool as it skittered out from beneath his lurching form.

Only to watch as the black metal frame and upholstered seat blushed a dusky golden hue, hardening to solid consistency before his very eyes.

Snatching his hand away from the gold stool, Tony stumbled backwards with a stunned yelp, catching himself on the opposite cluttered work bench. His fingers scattered odds and ends as he scrambled for purchase, both physical and mental, riots of gold spreading over wires and small tools beneath his scrabbling hands.

Sharp whistling puffs of breath rent the room, and Tony thought he could maybe hear the buzz of the perfect British accent that was Jarvis, and if he could just calm down, he might have even been able to understand.

His hands tucked up into his armpits, Tony knelt double, ragged breathing audible through his parted lips, as he hid from the utterly ridiculous, completely impossible, unbelievably disturbing nature of this particular hallucination.

A whirring sound from directly behind him broke the search for sanctuary, and he turned, already speaking, his voice a loud and desperate "NO!"

But Dummy's solid gold statue stood before him, extended claw bent at a quizzically concerned angle.

* * *

Tony couldn't look at the golden statue, couldn't face what he had done. Couldn't even think about how he was going to fix this, because that brought the terrifying possibility that _he wouldn't be able to fix this._

His hands were shaking, he could feel the muted vibrations against his rib-cage, where they were still tucked up beneath his armpits. He couldn't hear over the thump of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears.

The mug, the benches, cooling wire and screwdrivers, the stool, _Dummy._

He wasn't hallucinating.

There was no way one of his mild, fatigue induced hallucinations, more a feeling of 'swimming' than visual manifestations, could cause such real terror.

He'd been attacked.

Actually, _they'd_ been attacked.

Steve would be proud of the hard learnt distinction, if Tony ever told him. Even if it was just Tony afflicted, they were a team, a family; all for one and one for all, and all that togetherness crap.

If you hurt just one, then you'd better goddamn run.

The _Avengers _had been attacked.

God, he hated magic so fucking much.

* * *

As if a switch had been flicked over in his head, Tony suddenly found himself on a whole new level of manic terror, because just the _thought_ of one of the others inflicted with this curse made his blood freeze.

Thor, with his affable personality and hands on approach to everything, touching and holding as everything swept gold beneath his fingers, amused by the novelty, and not yet understanding the tragedy.

Or Bruce, panicked and upset and _angry_. Hulk, not even being able to fathom, terrified and destroying and breaking.

Clint, Natasha.

Steve.

Unable to focus on the pitched drone of audio that scraped against the edge of his awareness, Tony fled the lab, turning the door-frame gold in his haste, and leaving smears of golden shine in streaks along corridor walls as he barreled around corners and tripped up stairs, smart enough to avoid the elevator, even in his almost mindless state.

A flash in his peripheral vision as he rounded an ascending staircase corner had him stilling, turning to stare at the handrail beneath his trailing hand, golden veins crawling away from the pads of his fingers to engulf the metal.

Dear god. He was _Midas._

Tony didn't know if he was yelling or not, he felt like he was screaming, but that could have been in his head.

Whether it was the suspected shouting, his gasping heaves for proper breath, the thumping of his too desperate footfalls or some other serendipitous coincidence that drew the attention, Tony barely managed to stop himself from barreling over Clint as he dashed into the main foyer.

The genius came to a dead stop as Clint's gaze followed his unexpected companion's entrance into the room, and Tony breathed easier.

Clint was fine. Relaxed, calm.

_They_ were fine. Safe and sound.

_He had to get the hell away from them._

"Stay away", was all he said, before sweeping back out of the room as suddenly as he'd come, leaving Clint to stare after him with wide eyes.

* * *

_Stay away._

Stay. Away.

That worked about as well as Tony would have expected it to, had he been thinking straight.

Namely, not at all, and the intentionally audible footsteps in his wake as he rounded the corner exacerbated his flustered hurry. Ducking into the kitchen, he lunged for the door.

Too late.

Clint shoved the door open as he slipped between the desperately fumbling genius and the doorframe, bare inches separating them.

Tony wasn't proud, in fact later he'd probably refuse to even acknowledge his reaction, but at Clint's forced proximity, he may have lost the plot _just a little. _He scrambled backwards in an ungainly crab like sidle, hands held high and wide as he shouted, "Stay away! No!"

The genius pressed back against the kitchen cabinet as Clint, concern in his gaze and reassurance in his posture, insisted on coming closer, saying soothingly, "Tony? What's wr-"

Shaking his head wildly, hands coming up in a 'warding' gesture, before being snatched back and tucked close just as fast, Tony hissed, "I said get back, not come closer, you moron!"

Clint slowed his approach, his own hands coming up in a placating manner as he attempted to calm his panicked friend, "It's just m- ah, just… just calm down, I'm sure that ev-"

As the archer approached, all Tony could see were the hands that were reaching for him, and he curled in on himself as he shouted, "Back the fuck off! Can't you see…?"

Clint's eyebrows raised in confusion and concern as his gaze swept Tony for any signs of visible danger, and finding none his worry grew, because this looked more like a flashback or panic attack than anything else.

Tony trailed off, realizing that Clint probably _couldn't_ see, and knowing that there was no way the archer would back off until he knew the reason, Tony lunged for the nearest item, brandishing a suddenly golden knife.

"See! Get out!" and as he watched, Clint's eyes widened slightly, his hands moving from placating to defensive, and the archer took a step backward, his keen gaze taking in Tony's feverish movements, wide eyes and the serrated blade waving haphazardly in the air between them.

Clint fled, and Tony lunged, closing the door behind him, the slam searing its way into his mind with the help of the golden stain spreading over the shiny silver metalwork.

Stepping back, Tony slumped against the bench, dropping the knife with a clutter as he focused on breathing, not noticing that he was almost shaking with relief – _he was alone, but they were safe._

* * *

Tony hadn't even had time to calm his racing heart or even attempt to assess the situation, when the shouting started, the thuds of desperate fists against metal echoed through the room, and Tony bit his lip, because-

_Stay away._

After less than a minute of unanswered demands like "Open the goddamn door, Stark!" and refused pleas to "Let us in, Tony!", it took Steve and Thor less than thirty seconds to have the door off its slider, and out of the way.

And then they were in the kitchen with him and _not staying away._

Worse than Clint's gradual direct approach was suddenly being _surrounded_ with nowhere to turn, nowhere to run. The kitchen bench was hard at his back, Bruce was in his immediate vision and flashes of varying shades of blond, red and brown in his peripheral told of the rest of his team.

Bruce was talking, but Tony couldn't hear him, because he kept coming closer and Tony was going to _turn him to gold_, why the hell had Clint!– and then Bruce was gone, and Tony couldn't turn his head to follow, because Steve was right in front of him.

Dummy's perfectly screwed coding and completely useless flawlessness was a gilded image, weighing heavily in the back of his mind, and Tony curled further in on himself, pulling as far away from Steve as he could get, because he couldn't- not them. Not him.

90% of the time Tony didn't even realise he was doing it, and he knew it was a telling habit that he really should break. But this time, when his fingers came up to tap a disjointed rhythm born of fear and anxiety…this time, well, _Tony noticed._

Tiny tendrils of creeping gold snarled across the smooth surface, a heavy coolness quickly becoming a burning warmth, as reassuring silver became gilded terror and blue light was engulfed and gone.

The absence of the soft whirring sound that had permeated and accompanied his every moment since that fateful day, that absence, was what truly broke him.

The booming sound of his thumping heart and the rush of blood in his ears was suddenly gone, replaced with cloying silence, as all colour drained away from Tony's face, and _could he already feel the shrapnel inching closer?_

Pinpricks of light burst bright against the encroaching darkness, his gaze blurring and focusing intermediately, his mind a blank cavern of terror and shock.

Tony stared down at his fingers still tapping against the solid gold arc reactor.

* * *

He couldn't move, couldn't hear the concern and growing panic of his team mates, couldn't drag his focus from his imminent death, and then his mind screamed something at him, something important, more important that the coming pain, and Tony snapped back to some semblance of reality just in time to see Steve's hands reaching for his.

Tony threw caution to the wind, and lunged for the door, knowing that if _somehow_ he could just get passed two assassins, one hulk, one thunder god and Steve…

And then Steve was grabbing his arms, a little too hard, but he could understand why, what with the way Tony was struggling like some wild hellcat because _Steve was grabbing his arms, and his hands were so close _– and then he wasn't struggling, because Steve had him shoved up against the wall.

Steve's upper body strength easily pinned Tony to the wall, the super soldier leaning in close and looming and Tony's wide eyed vision narrowed to _so familiar blue_ with such clarity that he had no choice but to listen to the words that were spilling desperately from Steve's lips, "-ony! Breathe! You have to brea-"

Tony didn't even remember when he'd stopped, but with the attention drawn to it, all he could feel was an aching _burn_ where oxygen should have been.

Breathe. Okay yes, priority one, start breathing again.

Panic blown brown eyes slipped closed as Tony sucked in heaving breath after heaving breath, rigid against the wall, pinned half beneath his lover.

Each breath was drawn in an exhaled against Steve's soothing litany of unheard words, and in the instant between one and the next, Tony didn't have time to react as Steve's hands slid down his arms and over his wrists, engulfing Tony's own.

The breath, honest to god, _seized _in his throat, and Tony fell silent, unable to open his eyes, because if he couldn't see it happening...

He was sure he could feel the overly warm skin on his becoming cold and hard and golden…

But Steve was still talking.

And he just had to see, had to _know._

His eyes opened, brown immediately drawn to worried blue, and Steve was still there, perfect and warm and alive.

Then Tony looked down.

Steve's skin was _rippling _beneath his fingers, creamy flesh roiling against invading gold as it crept up strong, defenseless arms.

* * *

A/N - Let me know what you think...also, Golden Steve anyone?

Okay - so, I'm working on the ending to this as I upload part one, so expect it soon, barring an real life drama's.

As always - feel encouraged to point out errors and such, as I always appreciate help making my work better.


	2. Is Not Gold

_Part 2: Is Not Gold_

* * *

Objective: Locate and recover stash of hidden Reese PB cups.

**Possible obstacles: Bruce. Steve. Nat.**

- Health conscious, medically inclined, rage monster decidedly unapproving of mass of chocolate consumption.

- Nosy, mother-henning team leader having decided that body weight in chocolate not suitable for dinner more than one night per week.

- Scary as hell, yet strangely overprotective female assassin in agreement.

**Possible accomplices: Thor. Tony.**

- Thunder god partial to Poptarts. Under same rule. Willing to trade assistance.

- Ironass of an ill-concealed impish nature. Willing to assist in hope of chaos creation.

**Clint was on a mission.**

* * *

Exiting the elevator to their main foyer, Clint headed toward the kitchen, determined to clear the most obvious hiding place first, despite being almost 100% sure that it was a fool's errand.

There was always the slightest chance though, that whoever had hidden his stash was counting on Clint thinking this, and his chocolates were resting in a dark corner of one the kitchen cabinets anyway.

As he neared the door to the hallway, Clint suddenly froze, his keen ears picking up quickly approaching footsteps in the near distance. He panicked slightly, despite the fact that he was just standing innocently in the corridor, because if it was Nat, she'd just_ know._

A second later his mind caught up, because if it was Natasha approaching, there was no way Clint would even be able to hear the master assassin.

His curiosity was peaked though, because it was fairly rare for the staircases to be in use, and Clint would put money on Steve being the most likely candidate. Yet Clint had just come from the gym, and the super-solder had still been beating a bag bloody when the archer had left not ten minutes ago.

The only thing downwards that various members of the Avengers frequented even semi-regularly was Tony's main workshop.

Clint grinned.

On second thought, it really wasn't that unusual for someone to be rushing up the manual access path of staircases and corridors, if that person was Tony Stark.

Last week it had been an infuriated, yet decidedly non-green Bruce, that had chased a fleet footed Tony up the hallway, the engineer cackling like a hyena as he'd managed to stay one step ahead of his fellow scientist.

Clint still hadn't succeeded in getting the entire story behind that one, but knew it had involved Tony's fascination with electrical stun devices and Bruce's (admittedly hilarious) yelps of righteous shock.

Steve himself had chased Tony up the corridor twice that Clint knew about, although each time Tony had only gotten a handful of steps before he'd, as intended, been well and truly pinned.

No doubt the engineer was in trouble again.

Which was just how Tony liked it.

Clint decided that the hunt for his peanut butter cups could wait until the floor show was over.

An instant later, and Tony stumbled into the foyer, proving Clint's hunch correct.

A half realised smart-assed comment formed on the archer's lips, before his gaze took in Tony's hunched body posture, whistling breath, heightened red flush of panic and the wild eyes that flew to his.

Clint's cool gaze became assessing, and he dropped into his 'action-ready' stance, mouth opening to ask what was wrong, but Tony cut him off.

"Stay away" was all the genius said before he turned tail and ran.

* * *

_Stay away._

Stay. Away.

Not likely, was all Clint's racing mind could come up with as he hurried out of the room after his fleeing team mate. Whatever was going on, it was apparently enough to have Tony in a complete tailspin, and Avengers didn't just let other Avengers go to pieces.

Not wanting to spook Tony any more than whatever the hell was happening already had, Clint made his steps deliberately loud in the quiet hallway.

He'd known that Tony was fast on his feet, but panic had obviously leant the man wings of fleetness. Tony veered off to the side and ducked into the kitchen, Clint having to lunge for the already closing door.

Shoving the smooth sliding door back open, the archer pushed his way into the room, almost sideswiping Tony with his proximity.

And then proceeded to watch as Tony just_ flipped out._

The genius scrambled backwards desperately, away from Clint, an almost frantic pleading quality to his voice as he shouted, "Stay away! No!"

Clint easily recognised fear and panic in the wide brown gaze and a sudden sweeping of concern overriding even the last remnants of humour and curiosity, Clint shuffled closer as he asked smoothly, "Tony? What's wr-""

Not even getting a chance to finish his sentence, Clint watched as Tony shoved himself backwards into the kitchen cupboards and brought his hands up in the all too familiar, 'stay away' position. Clint barely had time to notice that they were shaking before Tony suddenly snapped them back into his own personal body space.

Dark sweat soaked hair flopped wildly as Tony shook his head vigorously, his voice clearly afraid, despite the anger in the words as he hissed through clenched teeth, "I said get back, not come closer, you moron!"

Slowing down, Clint crouched a little lower, trying to get a good look at Tony's eyes, wondering if he had been drugged or was injured. His own hands came up in a pacifying fashion as he spoke broken reassurances that he was beginning to suspect Tony wasn't hearing, "It's just m- ah, just… just calm down, I'm sure that ev-"

Hawkeye stopped moving forward completely, staying his approach when Tony all but curled in on himself as he swore furiously, "Back the fuck off! Can't you see…?"

Clint's eyebrows raised in confusion and concern as his gaze swept Tony for any signs of visible danger, and finding none his worry grew, because this looked more like a flashback or panic attack than anything else.

Before Clint had time to think of another course of action, Tony lunged upwards, his hands scrabbling something off the bench with a metallic scrape, and then suddenly the whole situation changed, because this wasn't a panicked, afraid Tony cowering from one of his best friends.

This was a hysterical, possibly delusional Tony Stark brandishing a steak knife at an unarmed Clint Barton as he screamed brokenly, "See! Get out!"

Clint knew he could take Tony down with ease under normal circumstances.

But while Tony was cornered, afraid and unpredictable, and while there was the smallest chance, even at its most infinitesimal, that the knife would slip…

Clint couldn't risk it.

He backed out of the kitchen and fled.

* * *

He needed reinforcements.

Fast.

And as far as the situation went, the absolute best reinforcement Clint could possibly think of was Steve Rogers.

Steve, a natural born leader.

In fact, it could be said that under the right circumstance just about any of the Avengers could pull on the mantle of leader and do so well.

Steve though, had the added bonus of being _Tony's_ team leader. If there was anyone who was going to break through whatever hell Tony had found himself immersed in, it would be the Captain.

Steve also had his super strength and advanced healing abilities to fall back on, in the event that the knife was still in play when they re-entered that room.

And then, for the trifecta –Steve was Tony's… he was Tony's best friend, lover, partner and soul mate. His everything.

It had to be Steve.

Loathe to leave the kitchen area, despite the door now being closed, the slam still reverberating through the quiet hallway Clint asked, "JARVIS? Is Steve still in the gym?"

"No, Agent Barton. I have already informed Captain Rogers of the need for his immediate assistance, and he is only moments away. " The AI sounded almost relieved, yet as professional and proficient as ever.

Clint nodded his thanks as he replied, "Good – What the hell happened?"

There was a beat of silence before JARVIS answered, and Clint likened it to someone taking a fortifying breath before explaining something that was still frightening them, "I am unable to be specific Agent, as I am still unsure as to the exact cause… Sir started to panic in the workshop a little over 20 minutes ago and has grown steadily more hysterical over that time. He has not acknowledged my attempts to speak to him…"

Desperately waiting for Steve to round the corner from the elevator, Clint was surprised when Natasha and Bruce appeared from behind him, having apparently been drawn by the sound of Tony's one sided shouting match from moments ago.

He had just finished explaining what he knew of the situation and Natasha had stepped up to the door, demanding entrance, when footsteps had come from up the hall, and looking up, Clint had almost cursed as the wrong blond rounded the corner.

But Steve was close on his heels, and 90 seconds later the door was gone.

* * *

Steve wasn't sure what he was expecting when they entered the kitchen, but his Tony, Tony Stark, _Tony fucking Stark_, curled into a tiny shuddering crouch against the far cabinets was not anywhere in his top ten. Twenty. One hundred.

Tony noticed them almost instantly, and begging suddenly filled the room, the repeated plea to 'stay away' absolutely desperate, and everything else Steve was thinking fled his mind, because whatever this was, whatever Tony was seeing… had propelled him into a state of complete and utter terror.

Despite wanting to rush to Tony's side, _needing_ to get to Tony's side, Steve moved slightly to the left as he entered the room, allowing Bruce, with his medical knowledge, to take point, the rest of the team fanning out in a semi-circle that allowed no escape, but wasn't threatening in its proximity.

Steve forced himself to drag his attention away from Tony's muttered litany and pale skin, and pay attention to what Bruce was saying.

" -ot really here. Completely out of it. I don't know why, could be drugged or… Steve, how long ago did he last slee- Oh my g- look at his eyes. "

As Tony shifted slightly, tangled waves of hair fell from his forehead. Previously veiled eyes were suddenly visible, and Steve's heart just broke.

Because whatever this was, whatever had terrified Tony Stark into a shuddering, cowering mess… was from the depths of his own mind.

Glassy, unfocused eyes, open and for all intents and purposes awake, yet not.

Steve was all too aware of Tony's absolutely terrifying nightmares, varied in memory and reason, yet each horrific.

Steve also knew that Tony was afflicted with the occasional bout of sleep walking. Innocent jaunts around the tower at odd hours of the night.

Steve had never seen the two combine.

Tony was trapped in a walking nightmare.

* * *

As soon as they became at least partially aware of what was going on, Bruce backed away quietly and as Steve slipped into his vacated place, the Captain was vaguely aware of the rest of the team slipping out the door to allow them some privacy.

He was thankful for it, for their forethought and sensitivity, and their trust in him to handle the situation. He also knew that when Tony woke from this waking hell, his astonishingly vulnerable and insecure lover would be doubly so.

Steve had never seen anything like this blend of sleeping, wakefulness and dreaming. Even when he was sleepwalking, Tony showed very limited awareness of his surrounds other than those necessary for whatever mischievousness his mind was up to.

This though? Tony was undoubtedly aware of the fact that Steve was here, a fact brought home more than effectively by the way his lover was curling in on himself, pleading with Steve to 'stay back'.

Normally, Steve would just wait until Tony woke on his own when sleepwalking, but there was no way he was going to let Tony suffer even one instant longer than necessary of this nightmare, and that meant waking him properly.

A firm touch, a warm hug and a soft kiss usually did the trick, but that meant Steve had to get closer, had to touch, and from the pleading, that was the last thing that nightmare broken Tony wanted.

Steve couldn't imagine, didn't want to even think about what Tony was dreaming about.

What could possibly make his lover so completely and utterly terrified of Steve's very presence that he'd cower away, curled into a shuddering ball on the floor, whimpering and pleading and desperate to be left alone, so afraid of Steve that he couldn't bear to have his lover come any closer?

At Steve's slow approach, Tony keened brokenly and flinched way, all but turning himself inside out in his attempt to get as far from his lover as possible

Steve couldn't imagine anything worse than Tony, whom he loved with all his heart and couldn't ever imagine hurting, flinching away from him in fear.

And then Tony stopped breathing.

He just crouched there, one hand tapping against the arc reactor in that familiar manner that Steve had come to recognise as an outlet for upset and fear, the other tucked against his stomach, as his dark brown eyes gazed down, seemingly fixated on the reactor.

Steve had never _seen_ anyone drain of all colour, until now, but that was the only way he could think to describe the sudden flush of blood that leached from Tony's face leaving only pale flesh, grey and chalky, around huge wide blown eyes.

Complete and utter shock. Trepidation. Terror.

Steve waited, watching, hoping for a sudden indrawn gasp of breath as Tony woke properly.

And then the _vibrating _started,and Steve was sure he could see blue staring to encroach on thinned pale lips.

The Captain lunged, hands reaching to shake Tony back into wakefulness, shake some _life _back into him, and his own breath nearly stopped as Tony suddenly blinked and his gaze caught Steve's approaching hands and beyond terror, beyond fear, was a sudden wash of dread, and Tony sprang forward.

Steve, didn't really think, he just reacted to the thought of losing Tony, both figuratively and literally. His arms caught Tony as he swept by, and suddenly his cowering, shuddering lover was gone, replaced by an absolute hellion on two legs, writhing and fighting like some wild thing.

Steve pinned him against the wall.

And that's when he noticed, that despite the frenzied movement, the sudden attack… Tony _still wasn't breathing._

Looming closer, his hands firm against Tony's upper arms, Steve desperately begging for Tony to, "Breathe! Come on Tony! Breathe! You have to brea-"

Steve knew the instant he had Tony's attention, the instant his brown eyes locked with blue, and then his own breaths of relief were accompanying Tony's, as the smaller man gasped and heaved like he'd just run a marathon.

The blond couldn't tell if Tony was awake, _properly awake_, or still caught up in his nightmare, but he was breathing, and Steve was holding him, and that was better than five seconds ago.

Able to feel the fear in Tony's rigid, unyielding form, Steve murmured soothingly as he gently ran his hands down over clenched fists to settle comfortingly.

A firm touch.

Tony obviously hadn't been as rigid as Steve had thought, because at the sudden change of grasp, he'd stiffened like a board, breath seizing anew.

Hoping that this meant Tony was finally awake, Steve kept up his quiet litany of softly reassuring words, and sure enough, Tony's eyes opened a moment later and slowly met his.

Hope.

Hope was all Steve could see in those brown eyes, and the sheer wondrous glow of the emotion replacing such fear was beyond Steve's comprehension, and he felt his throat catch.

And then Tony looked down again, his gaze riveted on their clasped hands, and hope became absolute despair, overshadowed only by growing devastation.

Tearing his hands violently out from beneath Steve's gentle grip, Tony rocketed backwards, and only Steve's lightning fast reaction saved his lover from braining himself against the kitchen bench.

Steve set him upright on his feet, but still Tony pulled away, his breath coming in hysterical little spurts.

He'd tried talking, cajoling and shaking, and still Tony wouldn't focus, wouldn't wake up, and it was starting to get beyond scary, detouring straight into dangerous.

So Steve slapped him across the face.

* * *

As sharp pain blossomed across his cheek and Tony blinked, startled.

And just like that, all traces of gold faded from his vision.

Tony immediately ceased his insistent attempts to pull away, going still and silent, his eyes locking on Steve's hands, _seeing._

Flesh and warmth and _real._

The arc reactor was a steady weight in his chest again, the soft whir threading pure relief from his ears to his mind, filling him with calm reassurance.

Shaking fingertips graced the stinging heat of his cheek, and his eyes flickered back to Steve, before dropping to the floor.

_Aware._

"You with me?" Steve waited for the minute tilt of Tony's head before stepping closer, continuing quietly, "Take a deep breath. It was just a dream, a nightmare."

The words seemed to bring the images back; golden tragedy and gilded terror washing across his life in a gilt layer.

And relief. Because it was just a dream. Just a terrible nightmare, and he wasn't losing anything.

The realisation flicked something in his mind, and the silent cavern suddenly sparked, igniting the usual ebb and flow of so many brilliant thoughts and concepts.

Concepts like that of complete and utter humiliation.

God, what must they think of him, cowering like a spineless pathetic wretch, huddled on the floor like some crazed lunatic? All because of some trivial nightmare.

The hot itch of his cheek suddenly seemed nothing in comparison to the burning tightness that seized up his throat, and stole his ability to meet his lover's concerned gaze.

"You're okay", Steve's voice washed over him with firm encouragement, and large, warm fingertips joined his own against the bite of reddening skin, tilting his face up with a feather light, yet irresistible touch.

The gentle reassurance, firm and sure, seemed to loosen something in Tony's chest, and he swallowed against the bitter mortification that tried to blossom over the snarled tangle of remembered terror.

Hot sensation prickled at the corners of his eyes, the rising tide of heavy emotion unfamiliar, and Tony was stunned to feel moisture gathering before he realised he was about to cry. Rather than devolve into wracked sobbing, he took a steadying breath and managed to choke out a determined agreement, "I'm Okay.", as if by saying it was so, would make it so.

A dream. Just a dream.

Steve's pale creamy skin and the blue glow of his chest said it was so, but still.

"I have to- The workshop. I need to check." And he moved towards the hallway on trembling legs.

Steve followed closely behind, interjecting "It was a dream. Everything's fine.", still not liking the pallor of Tony's skin.

"Captain Rogers is correct, sir. The workshop is in an acceptable condition. The bots are completely unharmed. It was just a nightmare." JARVIS intoned, voice reasonable and reassuring.

Tony nodded, not slowing his trek towards the elevator, images of golden claw and strut clouding his mind as he replied, "I know. I just- I have to."

And Steve, accepting Tony's understandable, if unnecessary need to be sure, asked JARVIS to inform the others of the situations resolution, and simply followed his lover.

The elevator dropped at its usual swift pace, yet seemed to be moving much slower, the heavy silence cloying and awkward between the two who were usually so content in each other's presence.

Steve, almost as desperate to break the silence as he was to see the remnants of fearful shadows fade from Tony eyes, asked quietly, "Is it Dummy? I mean-"

He fell silent at Tony's half whispered plea of, "Not yet. Just- I will, promise- just not until…"

Steve's heart clenched at the fear and hope warring for purchase in that choked sentence, and wanting to help, to comfort he started to reach for Tony's hand.

He didn't say anything as Tony chose that exact instant to press his hands deep into his hip pockets, hidden and out of reach.

* * *

The workshop door coded blue as Tony punched in his access, and slid open with a slight metallic thud.

The workshop was exactly as Steve was used to seeing it. Chaotically ordered mess, half completed and half thought of projects lining benches and walls.

Steve had to wonder what Tony saw.

"Oh, thank god." Tony's heartfelt exclamation drew his attention, and Steve turned to watch as Tony dropped into a crouch beside Dummy's excitedly wheeling form.

"Yeah buddy. I'm all good. What- Okay. Yes, a shake would be great. Yes, motor oil would be perfect. I'm sure Steve would love one too. Good boy." Tony stood from his hunch, wiping his hands against the front of his jeans as he turned to Steve.

"I'm okay." he said, and it was much more convincing this time.

Steve shot him a smile, and pulled Tony's wheeled creeper stool over with a foot, slumping into it. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the inscrutable look on Tony's face as his brown eyes followed the path of the little black seat.

"What?" the captain asked, and Tony's eyes jumped back to his, a shake of his head clearing the look.

"Nothing- just. Never mind" the engineer answered, moving to lean against the opposite bench, fiddling with some random coil of tight wire.

Steve nodded his apparent acceptance of the avoidance, and then asked, "So. Dummy?", and watched as Tony's gaze jumped to him and then dropped back to whatever he was fiddling with.

Calculating if he would get away with evasion.

On several different levels, Steve could understand Tony's reluctance. Knew that it stemmed from the remnants of fear, embarrassment and his hate of what he perceived of as weakness.

Steve could understand it, but could also have told Tony he wouldn't get away with it in this case.

Tony seemed to come to the same conclusion, but made a half-hearted attempt anyway, replying, "It was just- I know it was a nightmare. Just a dream. It's kind of stupid. Very stupid actually. I really should go and-"

Blond eyebrows jumped almost to his hairline as halfway through Tony's mediocre attempt at avoidance, the genius seemed to decide that mediocre wasn't really his thing and actually started to sidle towards the door and escape.

Steve swept him into an embrace, propelling his lover across the room, and before Tony had finished his sentence, the genius found himself seated on the edge of one of the workbenches. The muscled, six foot plus form of his attentive partner standing steadily between his spread knees inspiring an immediate change of tune, as he concluded, "-sit up here."

Grinning, Steve replied, "Sounds like a plan. You always come up with the best ideas.", on a more serious note the blond continued, "Whatever that was Tony- whatever dream, or memory or idea that caused it…Whatever it might have been, it wasn't stupid."

Tony actually cracked a smile as he answered, "Yes Steve, it really, really was. Utterly ridiculous and completely stupid."

Losing whatever good humour he'd managed to attain, Steve's face was serious and bleak as he said quietly, "Anything that can make you so completely and utterly terrified of me isn't stupid."

Blinking as he fought to make the connection, Tony blanched when he finally did, leaning forward to try and catch Steve's eyes, "No! That's not- I wasn't!"

"Tony, you were begging me not to touch you, pleading with me to stay away from you!" the Captain insisted, sure Tony was trying to spare his feelings.

Tony shook his head stubbornly, "No, I was pleading for _you_ to stay away from _me!_" he argued.

Steve leaned back, his hands resting on Tony's knees as he said, "Tony, that doesn't even make sense!"

Nodding, Tony finally explained, "I wasn't afraid that you were going to hurt me. I was afraid that I was going to hurt you."

And the pieces started to come together.

"Tell me" was all Steve said.

* * *

"_Midas_?" Steve asked for the third time.

Tony shot him a gare as he replied, "Yes, Midas! Guy who's touch turns things to gold!"

Steve couldn't help it, couldn't keep his lips from quirking softly.

Snarling angrily Tony went to heave himself from the bench top, saying, 'See! I told you it was stupid. I told you."

Sobering immediately, unable to tell Tony he was amused by Tony himself and not the situation, Steve pinned his partner to the bench with hands bracketing his waist as he pressed a kiss of apology to the still damp hairline, replying contritely, "Sorry, it's not funny, and it's not stupid…Midas ended up turning his own daughter to gold, didn't he?" his blue eyes following Dummy as the bot mixed god knows what into the blender.

"In some variations, it was lover." was Tony's reply, his eyes dropping to Steve's arms, remembering gold creeping its way over smooth warm skin.

"Oh." was Steve's brilliant reply, but his warm lips against Tony's and the heavy weight of the protective embrace more than made up for it.

"So you- everything you touched turned to gold. Dummy?" Steve asked quietly as they pulled apart slightly.

Tony nodded with a sigh, adding, "And a whole lot of other crap, benches, stools…the-".

Even now, after it was all over, Tony couldn't bring himself to say it, but Steve had a pretty good hunch.

Gentle fingers, familiar and safe still made Tony tense as they traced over the arc reactor, and he nodded, continuing, "Yes, that. And you. "

"Me? I turned gold?" Steve asked, his mind not able to comprehend how a waking dream could have achieved that outcome.

"You started to. When you grabbed my-"Tony stared down at his traitorous hands, and _god_, were they _still_ shaking?

So caught up in his memory, Tony almost jumped when larger hands suddenly entered his narrowed vision, and before he could stop himself, he'd flinched away, tucking his hands close to his body, and away from Steve's.

Ashamed of his ridiculous response, Tony ducked his head, kicking his heal against the bench with the anxiety of the situation.

Firm fingers drew his chin back up, and blue held brown ensnared.

Tony's breath hitched when he felt Steve's hands curl into his own, but unable to force himself to look away, he allowed Steve to draw their clasped hands up into their line of sight.

Not looking away, his eyes bearing into Tony's with complete understanding and acceptance, Steve pressed a kiss to each palm and drew Tony's hands to his chest, settling them over where his own heart lay.

Steve's softly intoned, "You're okay" was barely necessary; Tony's lips pressing against his was all the confirmation he needed.

As they pulled back, Tony watched as Steve's eyes narrowed, his blue gaze zeroing in on a spot to the left of his mouth, and easily able to see what his lover was thinking, Tony broke in with, "Just don't. It was barely even a love tap. You only did it as a last resort and I wanted to be awakes so very, very badly. Thankyou for slapping me silly."

Steve didn't look overly convinced, but at the determined spark in Tony's gaze, he let the genius have his own way, consoling himself with several gentle butterfly kisses to the reddened area and several more to deliciously pouted lips.

As Steve pulled back from his chasing lips, Tony, his hands still splayed beneath Steve's against the heavily muscled chest, sighed as he said "It just doesn't make any sense- I mean, the cave, and Obie and water…they all make sense. They're all pathetic, but they make sense."

Silence filled the room for a moment, and then Steve said,

"It's not pathetic…"

At the same time JARVIS broke in with, "If I may sir, you were watching a documentary when you fell asleep, and the words "Gold coveting snake" may have been among the last you heard."

Tony thumped his head against Steve's chest, moaning, "Is that what this is? Am I a greedy person, Steve? Do I- Am I money hungry?"

To Tony's shock Steve actually laughed.

In fact, he brayed like a donkey, with wheezy puffs of hilarity thrown in for good measure as he managed to say, "God Tony, if you cared any less about your money you wouldn't have any."

Tony wasn't convinced, but Steve wasn't finished, "Stark Industries is a business, and good businesses make money. Yours is just a very, VERY good business. But that's all you care about. The business. The money is just the result of the business."

"But so many people say-" Tony tried.

Steve cut him off, "So many people are wrong, jealous, stupid or all three. If all you cared about was the money, you would still be building weapons. Put it this way. Tony- How much money do you have? No- a number."

Tony actually blushed, but he looked pleased. The only answer he'd been able to think of was 'A lot.'

Steve nodded, finishing, "What kind of money obsessed person doesn't even know how much money they actually have! Be warned though, if you feel like arguing, I'm going to start using words like 'selfless' and 'generous".

Tony didn't argue.

Instead he asked, "So. If being greedy isn't among my mile long list of flaws, then what the hell was with the 'All that Glitter s not Gold' wrap?'"

Snorting, Steve replied, "Best guess? Your subconscious is a bitch."

Laughing, Tony leant in against Steve's chest, listening to the steady thump of each heartbeat, and feeling the warmth of Steve's hands caressing across his shoulders in smooth strokes.

Wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders, Tony snuggled into the conveniently provided mass of warmth, sighing, "You know I've just doomed you to however many sleepless nights. I've got enough new nightmare fodder to fuel my dreams for months" Tony, melted into the gentle kneading at the base of his skull, continuing, "I doubt I'll even be able to fall asleep tonight. Everytime I close my eyes…"

Tony trailed off, and Steve looked down to find peacefully closed eyes in a relaxed face, and even knowing that Tony would no doubt startle awake soon, and that they still had a rag-tag team of Avenger family members waiting upstairs somewhere…

For now, Steve just smiled and wrapped his arms more fully around his sleeping lover.

* * *

**A/N-**

**Firstly- **  
This is it! The final part of 'Insomniac Dreaming'. Its been pretty much a year in the making, and lets just say that I had an absolute ball writing it.

**Secondly - **  
You guys (The avengers Fandom as a whole) are absolutely fantastic! The wonderful praise and encouragement that you heap on me will keep me writing for many more stories to come. Would absolutely LOVE to get an overall feeling of what you guys thought ;)

**Thirdly-**  
You ain't seen the end of me. I'll be back! New 10 part series called 'As Easy As...', centered loosely around the them of 'breathing' is already planned out and underway. And - several actual stories with multiple chapters and real plots and everything! I'll be like a real writer!

**Fourthly -**  
Please feel encouraged to point out glaring errors you find! Making the stories better is all that's left after they are written!

**Fifthly and finally-**  
As always - HAPPY READING :D


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